


Smallclothes Serenade

by samzillastomps



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Leliana has made a note of it however, Well - Freeform, also hints of drunken inappropriateness by a dumb man which is why it's rated not G, it will be taken care of, meet-cute but for friends!, small blurb of an initial meeting, soon to be friend anyway, the Game as played by a newcomer and an experienced friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 14:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17809667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/pseuds/samzillastomps
Summary: Dealing with Orlesians can be a delicate Game, but asking an Antivan for an impromptu dance is almost always rewarding. When two strangers pretend to be friends at a party to help one another, something akin to actual fondness ensues. Funny that such a chance meeting would happen in a sea of politics and drunken revelry, especially when songs of underthings are sung unironically in the background by certain inebriated parties.Stranger things have happened in Val Royeaux, however, to be sure.





	Smallclothes Serenade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merilsell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merilsell/gifts).



> In this little blurb, I wanted to write the original meeting of Leliana and Josephine, which they both confessed to be kinda lackluster. I thought, what if it was very sweet? This initial meeting, and the cute little friendliness therein, is why Josephine (upon Leliana's return after the Blight) throws her a party in Val Royeaux to welcome her home.
> 
> The prompt was, to generalize it a bit: "Leliana and Josephine, first meeting, wild card is pantaloons". For Meri, whose other fic prompts were so enticing that I wish I had more time in order to fulfill them all!
> 
> I wish I'd had more time to do it a decent round of editing, but there is just no time!! Such is the lot of a pinch-hitter?? I hope it's okay regardless, I want there to be more Josie in the world and really pray I did her right <3

Ah. Gardenia. She was so very happy this garden had gardenia blooming, it was probably her second-favorite scent, next to the Andraste's Grace sachets she kept in almost every bag she owned. Walking through the elevated, second-floor garden as the moon rose steadily above her, Leliana contemplated just leaving.

She'd come here to gather information, and had done so.

Her performance was secondary, merely good practice.

But had she not proven herself already to Marjolaine? Had she not flexed her skills and-

“I never said I wasn’t enjoying myself, Comte,” Leliana overheard from a window to her left. She slowed her footsteps, making sure her heels did not click against the stone path. “I merely… do not require any more libations to fully appreciate the party.”

The tone of the woman speaking was clipped but polite, and anyone who wasn’t looking for the undertones might have missed the fatigue therein. On top of this, she could very briefly discern that the woman’s accent had a lilt of Antiva to it, if Leliana was not mistaken.

And with such details, she very rarely ever was.

“Ah, my dear Lady," Comte Whoever-He-Was drawled, "whatever would our host say of such quick dismissal to such a bar? Surely I could tempt you with just a touch more brandy? Or maybe honeyed wine-”

“No,” the lady replied, and this time it did not take someone skilled in the Game to detect the hint of irritation in her tone. Quickly, though, she recovered. “However, I would be glad to pour you another glass, once you have finished your current one.”

The man, obviously not falling for such an obvious naive entrapment, replied something under his breath. Something that made the woman protest with a stammer. Leliana moved past the balcony window over to the entryway on quick, deliberate heels.

“There you are!” she exclaimed happily.

The lady in question was pinned, metaphorically, in a corner by a large, pompous figure. At a quick glance, Leliana could discern he was from Val Royeux, with the latest buttons and trappings of embroidered eyelets along his glimmering vest. Up on the latest fashion, but paunch and red-faced. Too old for the young woman he had seemingly sequestered away in order to verbally pressure.

“I have been looking all over for you,” Leliana said with a happy grin directed towards the lady. “Come, we’re to meet Lady Verrance in-”

The lady in question shot her a flinty look, so brief and acute that Leliana almost lost control of her graceful manner. She barely faltered, cluing in immediately to the act this one was putting on. With a little stumble, as if she was tipsy herself, she turned with a bright smile to the woman's drunken aggressor.

“Wait a moment! Oh, I see why you have absconded."

The man seemed to be no less confused, yet his expression mellowed a fraction at Leliana's tone.

"Do forgive me, monsieur, I did not realize she was entertaining a guest.”

“Yes, well,” the Comte gave her an appreciative eyeing. “A friend of Lady Montilyet's, are you?”

"Yes, a little nightingale, at your service,” Leliana said with a flourish that sent her decorative sashes fluttering out behind her. The desired effect took hold with just a bit of luck on her side; a gust of balmy breeze wafted in from the balcony entryway to catch the train of fabric and lift it poetically behind Leliana, as if it were alive.

The one called Montilyet, a name that rang familiar somehow, had replaced the warning in her eyes with the warm amber glow of easy friendship.

She was good, Leliana thought appreciatively.

Funny they hadn’t been introduced before now, she so liked to meet new people that weren't ridiculously inept at these sorts of mental dances.

"I am glad you found me," Lady Montilyet said convivially. "I did not mean to worry you."

“Not at all! Forgive the interruption, Comte,” Leliana said. “I can see you two are preoccupied, I would not dare tempt her away.”

“Do not be ridiculous, there is no reason for you to leave,” the man said, suddenly looking as a dog torn between two owners. “That is to say, I would not be opposed to basking in the radiance of both of your lovely countenances. Unless you would like to resume our… private conversation, _mademoiselle_?”

“It is entirely up to you, ser,” Montilyet said sweetly, once more adopting the air of innocent, naive little doll.

Leliana could see it now.

The calculated precision with which this one moved, refused, or accepted. The forced air of unknowing and unaware, with a balance of well-bred aristocracy within her word choices.

She was in the process of playing the man so expertly that even Leliana herself had needed a moment to catch up to the Game.

"I would love to join you," Leliana said.

And observe more of how Lady Monilyet plays, she kept to herself.

After a few hours of rather brusque and suggestive conversation, much more drinking, and walks along the gardens just outside the ball, Leliana figured out Montilyet’s endgame.

She was after information, namely about a certain relationship one duke had with another duke’s mistress. She was subtle, adept at misdirection, especially good at propositioning questions in just such a way that the Comte Whomever-He-Was answered thinking he’d been the one to broach the topic himself.

And yet she flushed every so often, the tawny brown of her skin darkening even further as she flustered now and again. It was her only tell, one that might be attributed to drink and one she seemed to alleviate with a brief fanning.

Throughout the night, Leliana's eyes would meet hers, and they would both share a minute little grin. As if to acknowledge one another in this predicament, as if to apologize.

This Lady Montilyet, obviously working an angle and uncomfortable with Leliana’s involvement. Yet she was willing to roll with the punches and improvise, keeping the conversation polite and in control despite the drunkard's attempts to derail it. She recited poetry and essays, quoted plays, and even ran through a list of winners from the Grand Tourney that happened to be attending the ball tonight. She spoke, moved, and laughed as if she was happiest in their two company, even when dealing with the Comte's brazen solicitations.

It made for much more of an interesting interim than Leliana's mere walk around the garden by herself would have.

Leliana watched her as the night grew cooler around them, and when the Comte finally sputtered out that he had no doubt the mistress would backstab the one duke for the other, the ladies shot a glance at one another behind his shoulders.

“I had thought they were a loyal family,” Montilyet murmured to herself, and the Comte laughed.

“You could not be more wrong, my beauty,” he guffawed, already well in his cups. “Although whosoever is stupid enough to tie his cart to a mere _mistress_ anyway,” Leliana stiffened, “has basically consented to losing everything he’s ever worked for to begin with!”

“I do not see the harm in such a thing,” Montilyet said, darting her eyes away from Leliana’s long enough to pin the unsuspecting Comte with a soft expression. It was full of promise, and barely glassy-eyed with repulsion.

The girl was good.

But the man was drunk.

“No harm, unless you start giving your land, your titles, your honor away for someone you haven’t contractually secured,” he said, wagging a finger at her as if teaching a very young child a lesson. Meanwhile, his other hand had snaked its way to her bodice, and Leliana could physically see the lady swallow hard.

“I see,” she answered, and Leliana caught on to the fact that she was gearing up for a retreat. She decided to help the lady how she could; it was the least she could do after infringing upon her operation, after all.

She ‘tripped’ upon a cobblestone, careful not to actually scuff her shoe. The sound of her heel pinging hard against the ground was enough to make the party jump, however, and had its intended effect on the man too inebriated to tell he was being played.

“Oh, oh, no,” Leliana muttered under her breath. “Blast and damnation!”

“What?” he asked, his tone borderline panicked already.

“My buckle has come off,” Leliana lied, bending down to loosen it and tuck it inside of her shoe before he caught sight. “Curses, these were a gift for tonight’s performance too! Now whatever will I wear to sing?”

“Here, let me see,” Montilyet knelt down, her golden hoop skirt flouncing elegantly, revealing just enough petticoat to be a distraction for their rube. “Why, this is not so bad. I will fix it in just a moment, I have a seamstress along in my contenue for just such an emergency. Comte Boisvert, would you mind terribly grabbing me a second sparkling drink while I fetch for my servant?”

“At your service, _mesdemoiselles_ ,” the Comte said with an awkward, gangly bow. He was off before the two women even had to play up the lie more. As he rounded the corner, Montilyet buckled up Leliana’s shoe, and the feeling of her fingers flitting about her ankle made Leliana smile bemusedly.

“Hurry, before he returns,” Montilyet said, looping her arm with Leliana’s. “Lead me to the dance floor. He will not find us there.”

“At your service, _mademoiselle_ ,” Leliana said, imitating the pompous way the Comte had bowed. It made the two of them lurch forward, and Montilyet turned with a look of aghast horror on her face.

“Were you drinking the wine he passed you?”

“Yes, but- excuse me, why does that matter?” Leliana asked, shooting her fellow secret-collector a narrow look of reproach.

“One must stay level-headed,” the woman on her arm said daintily.

“I saw you sipping your drink, you sneak!”

“I, it-”

The lady cleared her throat pristinely and squared her shoulders.

“That was different. It was merely a sip.”

Leliana smiled despite herself as they rushed back inside, fast enough to look eager but not ai quick as to arouse too much attention. In but an instant, they were twirling in a bustle of skirts, masks, medallions, and garters along with the rest of the party guests.

It was a rather small ball, truth be told.

Lackluster compared to most Orlesian affairs, and of mixed company. Socially speaking, Leliana was slumming it a bit. She suspected the woman in her arms might be too, judging by the well-bred curve of her neck and the way her eyes skimmed about the room with just the tracest amounts of aloofness. Even though they were in Val Royeaux, this was not as high up the ladder as she had had to climb before.

As they dipped along with the rhythm of the violins, as if to illustrate the lack of subtlety the night had offered, Leliana caught sight of the Comte by the inner fountain. He was right next to the garden entrance, scanning the crowd with wine glasses in hand.

He was drinking out of both, it looked like. He hadn’t seen her that she’d noticed, but he would. And he looked booze-muddied enough to start something if he felt his attentions were the least bit rebuffed.

Montilyet didn’t need to be subjected to more of that.

Even if, Leliana mused appreciatively, she’d had a decent handle on the man.

Ah, but alas, there were very few options. If they wanted to truly be hidden, they’d have to fully leave the event, and it had been Leliana’s plan anyway since she’d already stolen into the back rooms and gathered up three contracts with which to blackmail the hostess.

Looking down into the flushed, beautiful face of this mysterious lady, however, Leliana was given pause.

“My name’s Leliana,” she said, breathless as they spun. “It’s… that’s my real name. I thought you should know.”

“And why give me your real name, pray tell?”

“You seem like someone who would do no wrong with it,” Leliana retorted, enjoying the playful ease with which the woman teased her.

“As a bard, you should know better.”

“Yes, but as a person, I thoroughly enjoyed listening to you outwit and run articulate circles around the unknowing Comte-” that earned Leliana a laugh “- and I felt it only right to reward such a thing with something valuable. So. My name is Leliana. What’s yours?”

“It’s… Josephine,” Montilyet confessed.

“Josephine Montilyet. I feel as if I’ve heard of you,” Leliana murmured.

“You might have.”

“Your accent suggests Antiva.”

“And yours Orlais,” she evaded gracefully. “From this region, or nearby?”

“No, not really,” Leliana danced back herself, feeling less of an emotional spar than when she batted such notions back and forth with Marjolaine.

With a quick glance behind her, Leliana realized that the Comte had amassed a crowd of equally drunk and boisterous party guests around him. Though, realistically, the most exciting a politician usually got was-

“Oh, Maker, he’s got his arm around the Marquesse du Plessis’s eldest daughter,” Leliana whispered, whisking Josephine around so that she could have a look for herself.

“That is not- it’s- that’s-”

Josephine stammered off into silence, presumably searching for a way to protest the indignity. Yvonne du Plessis, the eldest daughter of Marquesse Charlaine du Plessis, was training to be a part of the royal guard. She was shorter than the average human woman, something that worked to her advantage as it forced idiots to underestimate her. Most notably, she had been able to compete in the Grand Tourney. She had won the joust. This meant, to every sane and respectful adult, she was the last person one would want to drunkenly put their arm around as they condescended to her in a drunken stupor.

Unless, that is, they wished for a swift amputation.

“To think I…” Josephine paused, then glance up at Leliana with a rueful shake of her head. “I thought I was playing him, you know. Even though he was drunk enough I apparently didn’t have to.”

“I realized you were dangling him along once I saw your eyes. You are not bad at the Game."

Josephine seemed to just barely catch an eyeroll, and instead graciously gave Leliana a sad smile.

"Although," Leliana poked in an overly saccharine tone, "your neutral face could use some work. You are far too easy to read when you lose a bit of control in the conversation. It must happen so rarely, for it to frustrate you so.”

"Oh, on the contrary," Josephine murmured. "I have siblings. I have had a lot of practice realizing that not everything is able to be influenced by me." She paused, then added coquettishly, "For the most part, anyway."

"I like the confidence," Leliana said. "Just... when you are trying to mask with neutrality, do not go glassy-eyed. Put whatever is being said to you in a box to deal with later, maybe even imagine a very pretty satin bow tying the top of it if you wish. Then maybe you will not blush as much."

"I will- sweet Andraste, he's really gone too far," Josephine muttered.

"Ah-ah-ah! The face," Leliana warned.

As if trying to take her advice, Josephine attempted to smooth the embarrassment at the sight of Comte Boisvert socially debasing himself, his drunken storytelling punctuated by his nearly spilling red honeyed wine along the hem of Serrah du Plessis’ trouser leg.

Leliana was certain she was going to hear the sharp slap of a duel challenge at any moment, could practically feel the ball alive with the tension of such an expectation.

“You are a bard, are you not?” Josephine asked, distracting her.

Leliana winked rather than answer in so many words.

Marjolaine had warned her to always stay vague… even though it seemed borne more out of fun than necessity with prim little Josephine. No... now that Leliana had had a chance to talk with her away from the politics, she was not so much a Josephine.

This girl was more of a _Josie_.

“I see,” the lady murmured, her voice barely audible over the music. Exactly as Leliana had expected her to. “Who is your patron?”

“Nobody you need know,” Leliana smirked. “Now. Shall we enjoy the rest of what the night has to offer us?”

The lady in front of her blushed, and Leliana had mercy on her. With a laugh, she dipped her into a graceful spin.

“What a naughty thought you must have just had, to turn so red! Did you already grow tired of my mental exercise? A satin bow not enough to keep your mind from wandering?”

“It is a very helpful practice, and I am not red,” Josephine protested, her cheeks glowing further. “Also, it was you who suggested-”

“I’m only teasing, Josie. Do you mind terribly if I call you that? Josie?”

This achieved the intended reaction, and Leliana would go so far as to say she was not often called by a nickname.

“You are so very proper,” Leliana commented with a sigh, “it is no wonder I thought that I had to swoop in to save you. You make a very convincing damsel in distress.”

“I do not know what you are talking about. I am in no distress of any kind,” Josephine replied, her eyes flashing away to spot for her pirouette. When she turned back to Leliana, her gaze had hardened, and she looked as if she was biting her inner cheek.

“Something wrong?” Leliana asked. “Too many turns?”

“No, it’s not that. I just…” Josephine shrugged. “Maybe it’s the wine-”

“Of which you only had one glass.”

That earned her a playful glare.

Leliana laughed despite herself, feeling a strange and companionable connection to this person despite only having just met her.

“My apologies, I interrupted.” Leliana put on her eager-to-learn expression. “Do go on.”

“As I was saying before,” Josephine said primly. “Maybe it's the wine, but I was actually glad you jumped in. I’m not… very well-versed in these settings. My skills align more towards the diplomatic, as it were. I do not often have to wade into…” she hesitated heavily, her lips parting as she sighed. “Such flirtatious waters. It was uncharted territory for me, and you really did help. In your way.”

Leliana felt a tug at her core.

There was something about this woman that verged on too pure, too kind for this sort of work. She wasn’t a bard, not that Leliana could tell, but she was definitely playing the Game. Clunkily, perhaps, but not poorly. She had so much potential, it was obvious even to someone as novice as Leliana herself. No doubt Josephine was intelligent beyond the average person, but she-

“I am much obliged,” Josephine finished, and the dance came to a close.

Rather than replying, Leliana bowed to her, and took her arm before she could run off.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said.

Josephine shrugged happily, and Leliana imagined that there was a mirroring on her face, a kindred spark of friendship for no apparent reason. It steeled her.

“I have a performance,” Leliana said lightly, “in but a few moments. I will be singing on the grand terrace before the guests leave. Afterwards, would you like to go to a little gathering I know of nearby?”

“Aren’t we already at a party?” Josephine asked, her eyes brightening seemingly despite herself. "Why should we leave it to go to another?"

“I suppose we are,” Leliana said, but then pointedly looked back to where Boisvert had convinced an orchestral musician in joining him in song. They were standing together, swaying back and forth, composing what seemed to be an ode to pantaloons and silken, satin underthings as their respective significant others flitted back and forth, begging them to stop.

“But?” Josephine prompted.

“As fun as it is, watching a drunkard waddle around attempting to sing,” Leliana snickered underneath of her breath, “real parties do not happen amidst aristocracy.”

"They don’t?”

Her tone was adorable, and Leliana chuckled.

“I assume you’ve never played Wicked Grace until someone’s down to their smallclothes before, have you Mademoiselle Montilyet?”

Josephine flushed dark, and Leliana smiled broadly.

“The true party doesn’t start until you’ve banded together a group of brave and daring idiots who are willing to make bets that will be extraordinarily embarassing for them to lose at.” She winked at Josephine. “We two are smart enough to outnumber them, should we go together.”

“I shouldn’t,” Josephine said, her voice sounding like she wanted to immensely.

“I hope I have not offended-”

“No, I…” Lady Montilyet took a step backwards, hugging one arm about her own waist. “It would not be proper to merely duck out of a ball, however inebriated one of the guests of honor becomes.”

Leliana looked back up to where the Comte and two more people were singing about lace panties, much to the horror of onlookers. Certainly the next verse would be about garters. It seemed to have had only one benefit; du Plessis' hand had seemingly stopped twitching, as she was clapping along with the boisterous rhythm and seemingly eating up the indecency of the situation.

With a dry laugh, Leliana nodded to her newfound acquaintance. She held out her hand, and when Josephine took hers, they gripped one another’s fingers in appreciative respect.

“I do hope we meet again,” Josephine said. “Preferrably when I’m not otherwise…”

“Babysitting?” Leliana supplied, and at the very least that got a laugh out of her.

"Busy, I was going to say."

“Ah, well. It was a pleasure to meet you, Josie,” she teased.

“The pleasure was truly mine,” Josephine answered, giving a short dip of a curtsy.

Contrary to the usual meaning of the phrases, as Leliana left the party, she could not help but think the woman had actually meant it. In an odd and content turn of events, Leliana found that she herself had meant the farewell too. It had been a pleasure to interact with Lady Montilyet, even if it had derailed her plans for how the rest of the night would go. Glancing up at the sky, at the full moon above her, Leliana began to walk off towards the rendezvous point earlier than planned.

The party already had their crooner for the evening.

She was certain she would not be missed.


End file.
